Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds: Where the Wild Roses Grow
GLI EXTRA DELLE CCG / AWS EXTRAS / LES EXTRAS DES CCGOriginale | La conferma che la tradizionale appalachiana (ma di origine irlandese)... |
NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS: WHERE THE WILD ROSES GROW They call me The Wild Rose But my name was Elisa Day Why they call me it I do not know For my name was Elisa Day From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one As she stared in my eyes and smiled For her lips were the colour of the roses They grew down the river, all bloody and wild When he knocked on my door and entered the room My trembling subsided in his sure embrace He would be my first man, and with a careful hand He wiped the tears that ran down my face They call me The Wild Rose But my name was Elisa Day Why they call me it I do not know For my name was Elisa Day On the second day I brought her a flower She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen I said, 'Do you know where the wild roses grow So sweet and scarlet and free?' On the second day he came with a single rose Said: 'Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?' I nodded my head, as I layed on the bed He said, 'If I show you the roses will you follow?' They call me The Wild Rose But my name was Elisa Day Why they call me it I do not know For my name was Elisa Day On the third day he took me to the river He showed me the roses and we kissed And the last thing I heard was a muttered word As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief As I kissed her goodbye, I said, 'All beauty must die' And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth They call me The Wild Rose But my name was Elisa Day Why they call me it I do not know For my name was Elisa Day | THE WILLOW GARDEN Down in a willow garden Where me and my love did meet, 'Twas there we sat a courting My love dropped off to sleep. I had a bottle of the Burglar's wine Which my true love did not know, And so I poisoned that dear little girl Down under the bank below. I stobbed her with a dagger, Which was a bloody knife, I threw her in the river, Which was a dreadful sight. My father often told me That money would set me free, If I would murder that dear little girl Whose name was Rose Connelly. And now he sits in his own cottage door, A-wiping his weeping eye, And now he waits for his own dear son, Upon the scaffold high. My race is run beneath the sun, Lo, hell's now waiting for me, For I have murdered that dear little girl Whose name was Rose Connelly. |